


What Do We Say?

by CultOfAdoration



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Anxiety, Blowjobs, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, copia is an awkward weirdo who keeps wild rats in his bedroom, remember kids safe sex is a must
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfAdoration/pseuds/CultOfAdoration
Summary: This was written using my phone and is unbeta’d so please let me know if you find any ridiculous mistakes.First chapter (and possibly second) is setup, additional chapters will be collections of shorter snippets.





	1. Said the Spider to the Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This was written using my phone and is unbeta’d so please let me know if you find any ridiculous mistakes. 
> 
> First chapter (and possibly second) is setup, additional chapters will be collections of shorter snippets.

It’s not like he had never been called to a meeting before, and it’s not like he had never been alone with any of his superiors. In fact, he’d been working alongside Papa Nihil himself for several years now. But the cardinal still couldn’t help the twinge of anxiety he felt when Sister Imperator had called for him and informed him that Papa Emeritus III wanted to meet with him in one of his private rooms. He’d been there several times without incident, and each time he felt the same tension in his shoulders and nervousness in his gut. Sister Imperator looked up at him and smiled, placing her hand on his arm for a moment before sending him on his way.

A trio of Sisters of Sin pass by him in the corridor, each bowing their head slightly and offering a quick greeting. He’s nearly out of earshot when he hears them laugh amongst themselves and ask one another if they thought the Cardinal was really going to see _him_. Copia closes his eyes and sighs heavily through his nose. It’ll be fine! There’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about. 

Maybe Papa just wants to discuss what he would say during next week’s service. 

Maybe it would be a quick meeting to discuss his duties within the church. 

Maybe Papa would let him fuck him over his desk. 

Copia’s skin runs hot at the thought. It’s not like the idea had never crossed his mind before. He’d heard rumors about the kind of thing that the Papas get into during their free time. Calling Sisters up to their rooms at all hours of the night. Sometimes several. Sometimes even ghouls. He’d personally had many sleepless nights spent thinking about the men from the Emeritus bloodline, most notably the third. There was just something about his overtly… flirtatious personality and the way he so confidently performed in front of countless people. The tight pants and near-constant flurry of double entendres certainly didn’t hurt either. Fuck. The dull heat of arousal begins to stir in the pit of his stomach, only piling onto the anxiety that he felt earlier. He has to be careful, he realizes. He doesn’t have the luxury of full facepaint to mask his flushed look of embarrassment. 

He finds himself standing in front of the door to the study all too soon and shakes his thoughts from his mind, knocking three times before he could think of anything worse. He waits for permission to enter and uses the opportunity to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down before he makes a fool of himself.

“Yes, yes, come in, it’s unlocked,” Papa calls from inside. He sounded frustrated. Great. Copia breathes deeply once more to steel himself before pushing open the heavy oak door, the hinges squeaking as he swings it shut behind him. Heavy, ornately designed curtains are drawn in front of the large windows on the back wall of the study. Papa is at his desk, one side of his face illuminated by a lamp, staring down at scattered papers. He’s resting his chin on the top of his left hand, fiddling with a paper to-go coffee cup with his right. His gaze snaps upwards, making prolonged, intense eye contact before finally smiling.

“Cardinal! I’m glad to see you.”  
“Well, Papa, you _did_ send for–“  
“Yeah, yeah, fine. Please come here,” Papa mutters, waving his hand over. 

The Cardinal clasps his hands together for a moment, a nervous habit, before making his way up to the desk in the back of the room. The ancient wooden floorboards creak beneath his shoes, the uneven footfalls only highlighting his apprehension. 

Papa has turned a few papers around so that he can read them. “Look at this,” Papa taps one finger on a number listed at the very bottom of the top page, circled multiple times in red pen. “Do you know what this is?” 

The cardinal picks up the paper to view it closer, scanning for some context. It’s just numbers, each one larger than the last. Copia slowly shakes his head. “I, uh–“

“For the damages! Repairs!” Papa cuts in. Copia jumps slightly at the suddenly raised voice, watches Papa drag a hand slowly down the side of his face. His gaze falls slowly back down toward the paper as he thinks. He hadn’t broken anything, had he? At least nothing that would’ve been such a big deal. Except maybe that time last week when he knocked over–

“Have the ghouls been giving the rest of you much trouble?” 

Copia looks up. What? 

“I understand that they’re bored but they can’t just start tearing the place apart! Look at this page right here,” He says as he pushes another paper in front of Copia. “Do you think they have any idea how much it costs to replace those big-ass stained glass windows in the main hall?” Papa slumps back in his chair and makes a face at the stack of bills. “Think of all the fun shit I could be out doing with that kind of money.” 

Oh, the ghouls. Of course. Copia can feel the tense muscles in his shoulders relax almost immediately. They have been a little high spirited lately. No big rituals or new songs to learn to keep them occupied and out of trouble. Copia himself had already had to get in between a number of ghoul fights that started over petty arguments. 

Copia clears his throat before saying, “I might have noticed some mischief here and there.” Papa laughs a bit at that, sitting properly in his chair again. He takes the paper out of Copia’s hands and shuffles it to the bottom of the stack he was still looking through. “Don’t be afraid of being stern with them, Cardinal. If you see anything unacceptable, just… tell them to settle down, or fuck off, or something.” Papa waves one of his hands noncommittally. 

“Yes, I’ll make sure to look after them more closely, Papa.” This really was the best case scenario but he still couldn’t help his ever-present awkward demeanor. It’s not that he disliked or was even frightened of being around others, he just never really knew how to carry himself in front of his superiors. They’re all very open and easy going, except for maybe the second Papa Emeritus most of the time, but it would just feel wrong to join in like that. He clears his throat, eyes to the ground, but when he lifts his head, he catches Papa’s eye. He’s squinting slightly at him, with his hands folded in front of his mouth. 

“Is everything alright, Cardinal? Are you not feeling well?” 

Copia frowns a bit. Does he look nervous? Papa rests his chin on the top of his hands. “Don’t worry. It’s not like you’re going to hurt their feelings. They could use the discipline.” 

Copia opens his mouth to reply, only for Papa to cut him off before he can make a sound. 

“Or did you think you were the one in trouble?” 

At that, Copia stiffens, not going unnoticed by Papa, and chuckles awkwardly. 

“Eh– something like that?” 

Papa hums in acknowledgment, before taking a drink from his coffee. It already went cold hours ago. When he lowers the cup, he slowly rotates it around in his hands, looking at the label. “What have you been doing then, that you’re so worried about being caught?” 

Copia doesn’t miss the humor in his voice but his mind still goes blank and he ends up just staring at Papa for several awkward seconds. There’s no possible way that Papa knows what Copia does, what he thinks about, when he can’t sleep at night, right? Papa realizes that Copia isn’t going to answer his question, and while he should get angry at that disrespect, he decides to push it a little further after noticing the faint blush coloring Copia’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You know, just to see what he could get away with. “Were you hoping that you were called in here for something a little more fun?” 

Papa has to fight back a grin as Copia almost chokes at the question. There we go. 

“Oh, don’t worry Cardinal, I’m only joking. But I will see you soon,” he says and smiles at him again. And with that, Papa turns his full attention back to the bills on his desk, scratching something out with his pen. Copia bows slightly and turns to leave. Once his back is fully turned, he lets his expression fall into one of panic as he opens and shuts the door again behind him. He leans up against the wall beside the door for a second to catch his breath and clutches the grucifix hanging over his chest in one hand, running the other through his hair. See? It went fine. Just fine. 

He’s halfway back to his living quarters when he realizes what Papa was probably implying before he left.


	2. Control

It’s a little before midnight and, as usual, Copia is restlessly pacing around, not yet the least bit tired. He pauses to stand in front of the large white cage situated on top of his desk, just below the single narrow window of his living quarters. The room is illuminated by the moon and soft lamplight, just enough for him to be able to watch the rats without disturbing them. He’d convinced Papa Nihil to allow him to keep a few in his room last year, when he found out that the cathedral’s rat population was to be exterminated. Truthfully, he didn’t especially _like_ rats, but he still couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for them. The second Emeritus accused him of being overdramatic, but he didn’t care. At least the rats could be entertaining to watch and interact with at the end of each day. Both his mind and body have been heavy with the stress of trying to keep up with the increasingly unruly ghouls.

 

Copia opens up a glass container next to the cages and takes out a piece of dried fruit stolen from the pantry, tearing it up into smaller chunks. A few of the less apprehensive rats perk their ears up and approach his hand as he offers the treats through the bars. Sometimes he wishes he could hold them, take them out of their cage to let them roam, but he has to remind himself that as calm as they are, they’re still feral. They would just run off to breed and cause another infestation. Papa Nihil probably wouldn’t let him rescue any of them a second time. Just as a particularly scrawny and timid rat reached through the bars to grab for a piece of the fruit, a loud knock at the door caused it to squeal and run back to its previous hiding place. Copia curses under his breath and pours the rest of the fruit pieces back into the glass container, dusting off his hands before he answers the door.

 

Waiting on the other side is a Sister of Sin, who looks mildly surprised at seeing him in a plain grey t-shirt and casual trousers. She recovers quickly and bows her head before speaking. “I’m sorry if I woke you, Cardinal, but Papa would like to meet with you.” She begins to look a bit unsure of herself, hands wringing the edge of her dress and shifting from foot to foot as Copia stares at her in disbelief. “Did he say what this is about?” The Sister hesitantly shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, Cardinal. He stopped me on my way to my bedroom and just told me to find you.” Copia sighs and rubs his forehead. _This had better not be about the goddamned ghouls again_ , he thinks. He’d really be in trouble now if they were still causing trouble behind his back after all of his lecturing. “Thank you, Sister,” he says, finally. “Please continue to your room. It’s getting late, yes?” The Sister thanks him before bowing again, but pauses before she goes. She looks like she wants to say something, but then thinks better of it and rushes off down the hallway. Copia leans out into the hall, looking after her, before scrubbing his hands over his face and groaning out loud. It’s going to take at least ten minutes to put all of his vestments back on.

  


Copia makes his way to Papa Emeritus III study without incident, feeling only the slightest bit annoyed at the possibility of being scolded over whatever the ghouls may have done. He’s invited in when he knocks, and closes the door behind himself. Papa is seated in his desk chair, still in his regular suit and facepaint, slightly pulled away from the desk itself. Copia straightens himself and clears his throat before addressing him. “May I ask what this is about, Papa?” Copia tightens and releases his hands at his sides a few times, suddenly feeling nervous at Papa’s unwavering gaze. Papa stretches out lazily in his chair before crossing his legs. “Did I wake you, Cardinal?” Copia bites the inside of his lip. _Damn it._ “No, it isn’t that, Papa. I just-- It’s a little late for a meeting, isn’t it?”

 

Papa rests his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on the chair’s armrest. “Did you already forget what I told you last time we met?” For a moment, Copia’s skin goes cold at the idea of having forgotten something important from last time they met. He nervously clasps his hands together, no doubt about to apologize. Papa quickly realizes that trying to play coy with the cardinal isn’t about to get him anywhere. Lascivious as usual, then.

 

“You know,” he uncrosses his legs, planting his feet further apart than really necessary. “About something more fun?” He continues, placing a hand near his crotch and Copia thinks, _Oh_. He stammers for a minute, unable to think of a response to the obvious proposition before settling on staying silent and averting his eyes from the slight bulge in his pants. Papa tilts his head, frowning, and says, “Did I misread the situation? Well, if that’s the case, let’s just--” “No,” the cardinal interrupts before he can get any further. He clears his throat and repeats, “Uh, I want to.” He trails off, hands shaking. He clasps them together one more time, twisting one of the rings on his finger before dropping them back to his sides. They then finally make eye contact for several seconds before Papa grins and says, “I thought so.”

 

After another beat of silence, Copia asks, “Wait, what do you mean by that?” This time Papa allows himself to laugh. “You do stare at me from time to time, you know. I may act like a fool for an audience but I’m not stupid.” Well, shit. Copia was hoping he was a little more discreet than that. He can feel his skin flush with embarrassment at having been found out, which Papa takes immediate notice to. “Come over here, Cardinal.”

 

Once he’s close enough, Papa grabs the cardinal by his wrists. “You act like you’re afraid. You’re allowed to approach me. I am just a man after all.” This time, it’s Copia’s turn to laugh. Just a man, as if he hasn’t been leading the entire church under Papa Nihil’s guidance for the past few years. It’s not that he’s afraid, he just doesn’t know what’s _okay_. His gaze drifts from Papa’s eyes, mismatched like his own, to his lips and then further down, taking notice of Papa’s legs still brazenly spread open. “Why don’t you touch me, Cardinal?” There’s something of a challenge in those words, Papa tugging him forward until he has to place a hand on the chair’s armrest to maintain his balance. Still unsure but at this point unwilling to back down, Copia reaches out a still slightly shaking hand to curl around the back of Papa’s neck and pull him in. Just before their mouths connect, Papa mutters out a “there we go,” and grabs Copia by the front of the scarlet mozzetta he still wore. Really, he shouldn’t be shocked that the cardinal was the type to go for a kiss first. He seemed like the type; kind of sensitive, erring on the side of caution. Still, it was kind of nice. Without thinking too much about it, Papa bites hard at the cardinal’s bottom lip the way he would during a regular quick fuck, causing him to pull back with a hiss.

 

Papa’s eyes refocus just in time to catch a glimpse of the cardinal’s tongue running across his lip, licking away the tiny bead of blood that has already collected there. He groans at the sight and finally stands, giving Copia a gentle push against his chest until he hits the desk. “Did that hurt?” He asks, back to grasping at the cardinal’s clothing, pulling the neckline of the mozzetta down to nip at the exposed skin. Forgetting himself for a moment in his mild annoyance, the cardinal says, “Of course it fucking hurt.” When Papa pushes up against him to get him to sit on top of the desk, he’s surprisingly compliant. Just had to get him started, it seems. As Papa gets to work undoing the buttons on Copia’s robes, he asks “Is that such a bad thing?” He’s teasing, fully intending to hold back should the cardinal show any apprehension, but fumbles with the fourth button when Copia responds, “I wasn’t complaining.” This time his own skin runs hot, deep blush mercifully hidden by the facepaint. _Interesting_.

 

This time, Papa is the one to pull him back in, kissing him so hard he thinks he’ll bruise. The pressure is so intense that Copia has no choice but to return it or else risk being completely overwhelmed. So he sucks Papa’s tongue into his mouth and licks at his lips, trying to pull him closer to stand between his legs. He only pulls back when he realizes that his cassock is preventing him from opening his legs wide enough to get Papa where he wants him. “Take that thing off already,” Papa says breathlessly as he goes to work undoing the first few buttons of his own shirt.

 

He’s still wearing a t-shirt and trousers but once the mozzetta and cassock are fully undone, Copia sighs in relief at the cool air against his skin. He shoots a glare at Papa when he snorts a laugh at the juxtaposition of the well cared for robes and the faded, casual clothing underneath but there’s no animosity behind it. “I was preparing for bed when you called me, you know.”

 

Papa pushes the robes off of Copia’s shoulders and immediately begins to run his hands up his arms and over his upper body, pausing with one hand on Copia’s neck and the other on his chest. His pulse is pounding, chest rising and falling rapidly with his heartbeat. Curiously, Papa glides his fingertips one more time across the cardinal’s chest, stopping right in the center. Copia arches slightly into the touch but soon realizes that Papa isn’t going any further. He makes an involuntary impatient sound, earning only a light hum from Papa.

 

“Do you get like this often?”

 

The cardinal leans further into the hand against the side of his neck. “Do you mean getting hot and bothered on top of a superior’s desk, or…?” He trails off as Papa runs his thumb over the corner of his jawline. Papa looks unamused but doesn’t pull away.

 

“Are you feeling uneasy? Would you like to s—“

 

“ _No_ ,” Copia cuts him off. Papa laughs again at his eagerness. Truthfully, there had been a mounting feeling of anxiety in Copia’s stomach for the better part of the night that was only getting more intense with his building excitement. In the past, he would have tried to explain this mounting feeling of dread, but he had always been told that he was worried over nothing and to just relax. “It’s just nerves.” Now that his legs aren’t constrained by the floor-length cassock, he’s free to hook one of them around Papa’s hip to pull him closer.

 

This seems to be a good enough explanation for Papa because as soon as their hips make contact, he’s shoving Copia further backwards. “Ow,” Copia says flatly as he catches himself on one of his elbows, no real indication of pain behind it. The confidence in Papa’s actions is only bolstered by the quick look of anticipation that crosses the cardinal’s features and the other man finally grinds up against him. Copia lets his head fall back and groans at the friction. His heartbeat pounds louder and faster in his ears, only just noticing the stifling atmosphere in the room as Papa continues to rut against him.

 

His breathing is ragged, muscles taut from the effort of holding himself up and moving back against Papa’s hips. The heat combined with the heavy arousal pooling deep in his stomach are nearly unbearable, it’s becoming harder to focus on anything other than his own mild discomfort and the sounds being pulled from Papa Emeritus. He should have known he would be loud when it came down to it. His own lips were bitten and slightly sore from his attempts at staying as silent as possible.

 

Suddenly, something in him snaps and it all becomes too much. Arousal is replaced almost entirely with sudden nausea and adrenaline when Copia feels Papa undo the zipper of his trousers, hooking the fingers of his other hand into the waistband. “Wait, _fuck_ ,” Copia gasps and grabs Papa’s wrist harshly in his free hand, the other man going still almost immediately. The cardinal’s skin burns now for an entirely different reason, at the idea of being so easily overwhelmed by something as mundane as a little bit of heavy petting. His erratic heartbeat and heavy breathing are suddenly the loudest things in the room.

 

It takes him a moment to notice that Papa has moved away from him, once again running his hands soothingly along Copia’s arms and up the side of his neck. “Shit, why didn’t you say anyth-- No. Nevermind,” Papa mutters, brushing Copia’s hair back and tilting his head to look him in the eye. “Are you alright? What was that?”

 

Copia groans and sits up straight, rubbing at his eyes. Of course, Papa Emeritus couldn't just wordlessly turn him away so that Copia could shamefully slink back to his room and hope that this would never be mentioned again. He just _had_ to be nice about it.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” He says. “I wasn’t _not_ enjoying it. It’s nothing that I haven’t done before, I just...” He gestures vaguely with his hand before lowering it to rest at his side on the desk. “Too much,” he finally finishes. He knows that Papa can still see his erection straining against his pants but the other man thankfully says nothing, sparing Copia from further embarrassment and keeping his hands safely where the cardinal can see them. When Papa finally speaks, it’s calm, almost stern. “Sometimes our minds and bodies have different ideas of what we can handle.” Copia has to look down to keep eye contact with him thanks to the added height of the desk and almost feels worse when there’s no frustration present in the pope’s expression. Before the moment can go on too long and become even more uncomfortable, Papa steps away fully to allow Copia to slide off of the desk. Papa runs a hand through his hair before sighing deeply and sitting back down in his chair.

 

“Eh. Shit happens,” he says, offering a lazy half-shrug. Copia doesn’t exactly feel better. Less bad, maybe, but not better. He has to admit though, the adrenaline rush had been somewhat exciting. The lingering feeling of arousal still buzzes just beneath his skin and he’s struggling to level his breathing completely, even after the moment of panic is over. They sit in silence for so long that Copia wonders briefly if the moment is totally ruined and if he should just redress and go to bed. Instead of dwelling on the feeling, he decides that there’s no way he’ll be able to fall asleep now. He might as well get something out of this.

 

“I think I’d like to keep going,” he says, inflection making it sound more like a question than a statement. He’s shaking slightly again but he forces himself to at least keep his hands steady, gripping the edge of the desk. Papa nods and says, “Of course. Whatever you want,” as he moves closer and strokes his palms up Copia’s waist. “Just don’t try to force yourself.” It’s even more embarrassing to hear Papa Emeritus affirm him like that because it makes him feel ridiculous for being so nervous in the first place. He wants to explain himself but he can’t figure out how to say that sometimes he gets so excited he makes himself sick in a coherent enough way.

 

So Copia says nothing, just rocks his hips against Papa’s, only vaguely surprised that he’s still hard. The slower, easier pace gives Copia more time to ready himself when Papa finally gets his hand down the front of his trousers, stroking him a few times through his underwear. “Okay?” Papa asks when Copia grabs his upper arm. He waits until he sees Copia nod and bite his lip again to stifle any noise before leaning in to kiss him and slide his hand past the waistband of his underwear. This time Copia is caught off guard and whines into the other man’s mouth. His own hand move’s down onto Papa’s, guiding him to move a bit faster, to tighten his grip a little more around his cock. He quickly releases him when Papa pulls his hand away, almost ready to apologize, when he notices that he’s merely taking off his gloves. Copia belatedly realizes he has barely touched Papa at all since they began and fumblingly removes his rings and gloves as well.

 

He’s shaken from his daze after hearing Papa moan loudly when he finally gets his trousers undone and a hand around his cock. His touches are light, gentler than he personally prefers, but it seems to be doing the trick. Copia tries not to cringe at the thought of how sweaty his hands get inside the leather gloves, especially when he’s nervous, but Papa doesn’t seem to notice or care. The other man’s hand quickens and he can hear Papa mumbling praises that he doesn’t quite catch before he leans in to lick a stripe up toward Copia’s jawline. One of his hands curls around the back of Papa’s neck, holding him there until he gets the hint and bites down. His voice steadily rises in both volume and urgency as Papa continues to place biting kisses and licks at his neck between more words of praise, even pulling his shirt aside to reach his collarbones and the junction between his neck and shoulder. Papa hisses, his own hand faltering slightly as Copia tightens and twists his hand as it stokes up his cock.

 

“There you go, you’re doing so well, fuck.” With a soft _thunk_ , Papa lets his forehead rest against Copia’s. He’s panting hard, occasionally licking and biting at the cardinal’s lips and huffing out a laugh each time Copia moves forward to try and catch him in another kiss. When Copia finally inhales sharply and whimpers at a too-sharp bite, Papa finally takes pity and licks soothingly at the bite, closing the distance between their mouths. Copia picks up the pace of his hand, encouraged by the urgency in Papa’s own movements. He can feel that Papa is close from the way his lips tremble against his and the telltale sounds that escape their kiss, all short breathless moans, his fingernails digging in just too sharply against Copia’s waist. Papa bucks his hips forward without warning a final few times with a loud groan before going still. His come spills down Copia’s hand, some of it making its way onto the front of his shirt.

 

Papa’s hand goes still for a moment as he regains his composure before picking up a much quicker pace. The cardinal curses at the rougher treatment, pushing his hips up to meet Papa’s hand. “Are you going to come, Cardinal?” Papa’s voice is harsh in his ear, Copia keening low in his throat at the words. “Yes, you’re so good, fuck, come for me--” Copia follows not long after that, spurred on by Papa’s words and the way he can feel his legs still trembling against his own. Papa strokes him through it, and continues even after he was done and Copia pushes weakly at the hand, whining at the continued stimulation. Papa laughs as he pulls away and gives the cardinal some space to catch his breath, immediately searching his desk for something to clean up with.

 

Copia leans heavily against the desk, still experiencing the aftershocks of his orgasm. It probably would have been better in the end if he had been more comfortable when they began. He cringes as he replays the sounds he made in his head. He shakes the worry from his mind when Papa makes a triumphant sound and pulls a small packet of tissues from the back of a drawer. Papa struggles to open the plastic wrapping at first, but manages to pull a few tissues free and hands some over to Copia before taking some more for himself.

 

They clean the mess from their hands and clothing as best they can, Papa reassuring him that any leftover stains will come out in the wash anyway. “Don’t worry too much about it,”  he says. “The ghouls on laundry duty have dealt with worse. They know better than to say anything.” Copia wonders briefly about the implications as he tosses the used tissues into the wastebasket by the desk. They chat amicably about recent goings on in the church until Copia yawns, just now realizing how worn out he is. He contemplates redressing in his robes but thinks better of it, opting instead to drape them over his arm after considering the effort it would take just to have to remove them again when he returns to his room.

 

“Leaving so soon, Cardinal?” Papa asks from where he’s lounging in his chair again. He looks like he’d never even been a mess in the first place, facepaint unsmudged, hair already straightened back into place and fully redressed. Copia can only imagine how wrecked he probably looks. “It’s just very late, I’d like to return to bed now. Of course, if that’s alright with you.” Truthfully, he’d love to stay and spend more time alone with Papa but he would prefer to get his walk of shame over and done with as soon as possible. Not many people got the opportunity despite his frequent exploits. “You don’t need my permission to go, Cardinal. This isn’t a formal meeting, after all. I still have some papers to go over myself.” Papa then gives him a wry grin before adding, “I hope we can meet again when I have more free time, Cardinal.”

 

Copia laughs in surprise before nodding. He bids Papa goodnight and sees himself out, not wanting to take up any more of his time. The cardinal hurries through the halls to his room, making as little noise as possible so as not to wake any sleeping tenants. Meeting again doesn’t sound too intimidating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this was written on my phone so please let me know if you find any errors! Thank you so much for your kind words and kudos. <3 <3


	3. The Laying of Hands, the Speaking in Tongues

The cardinal is already working on the topmost button of his robes by the time he gets to his bedroom door. Sighing deeply, he rubs his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, a tension headache already beginning to form. He turns to lock the door behind him and cracks his neck before he goes to undo the second button on his robe. Copia freezes.

 

_Wait._

 

_Did he forget to turn the lights off this morning?_

 

A chill creeps up his back and he turns to fully face the room. The chill of shock is replaced by embarrassment when he locks eyes with Papa, sitting on the side of his bed like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He straightens up from how he was originally sitting; leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. Obviously, he’d been here a while.

“It took you long enough to notice!” Papa laughs as he stands and stretches.

The cardinal nervously brings a hand up to the undone neckline of his robes, as if he were trying to hide it. His face heats up just a bit when he realizes that the black paint around his eyes is probably smudged too.

“Did you need something, Papa?” Copia asks, trying to keep up an air of formality. The man is still his superior, after all. Papa looks up from where he’s brazenly rifling through some of Copia’s belongings that were left out on his desk and shrugs.

“You always come to see me. So I thought, why not come see you for a change?” He says simply. Copia tries not to roll his eyes and keep his face impassive.

_You’re just bored of sending Sisters and ghouls out to hunt me down at all hours of the day._

Papa stares at him expectantly for a few seconds before realizing that the cardinal is waiting for him to say something again.

“Relax. I’m not here on any serious matters, cardinal.”

Copia’s shoulders visibly drop as he goes back to unbuttoning his robes. He carefully folds the heavy cassock and sets it aside onto the small cabinet standing just beside the entryway, along with his biretta. He doesn’t even bother to put them back inside the drawer anymore. It’s not like he has a collection of different outfits that he wears in his spare time taking up all his storage space or anything. Self consciously, he tugs at the bottom of his plain black shirt to try and smooth out some of the wrinkles that formed throughout the day.

“It’s pretty late, isn’t it? You must be working hard. Maybe you’d like a reward for good behavior?” He asks teasingly, a smile playing at his voice as he comes to stand practically nose to nose with the other man. Copia finds himself worrying so much about whether Papa can hear his heartbeat this close up that he forgets to breathe normally. He releases a shaking breath, drawing his eyes down when Papa slightly parts his lips. These stupid pickup lines really shouldn’t be working on him this easily.

“Do you ever think I’m playing favorites?” Papa asks, stepping back a little.

“I think you just know where to look when you want to fuck,” he says. It still feels foreign and wrong, speaking so informally in front of Papa, like he should feel embarrassed. But he jokes around with other members of the church that way and doesn’t think twice about it. Papa’s a regular man. He just so happens to be a cult leader. It’s fine. Papa laughs anyway, completely unaware of Copia’s overthinking, and Copia pulls him in by the back of his neck to press their lips together. The other man seems shocked for a split second before he leans into it, pushing him flat against the wall and bringing a hand to the side of the cardinal’s face.  

Copia’s breaths are still shaky and uneven when he asks, “So, what exactly were you thinking?”

Papa’s hands had started wandering, one into Copia’s hair and the other toying at the edge of his shirt, fingers just barely brushing against skin. He hums when Copia leans into his touch and gently tugs his head slightly back by his hair.

“Get down on my knees for you, maybe,” Papa whispers against Copia’s lips. His heart practically skips a beat. The corners of Papa’s mouth quirk upward into a smug grin when the cardinal shudders and whimpers a weak “ _ffffuck_ ”, closing the distance between them again. Papa strokes his thumb over the cardinal’s cheekbone, biting his lower lip and moving down to Copia’s neck with a series of hot, feathery kisses that send a hissed gasp from between his clenched teeth. He isn’t sure whether he should be annoyed or even more turned on when Papa tugs at the collar of his shirt to leave little reddish purple marks along his collarbone. He’s finally able to catch his breath for a second when Papa drops down onto his knees in front of him, running his hands over his hips and waist, using one to push his shirt up his stomach.

Copia gently runs his fingers through Papa’s hair and sighs, bracing the other against the wall. Despite the fact that he can feel the cardinal shivering in anticipation, Papa takes his time kissing more faint marks just above the waistline of his trousers. He laughs quietly to himself at the soft noises that catch on Copia’s every exhale when he mouths teasingly at his hard cock through the fabric. After a few minutes of teasing, Copia cants his hips forward, seeking more pressure, more heat, as Papa pulls away to finally, mercifully, unzip him. He looks up and raises an eyebrow, sort of smiling, when he _isn’t_ met with yet another layer of fabric. Copia just shrugs. Oh well, it’s one less obstacle. Papa laughs, a short huff of air out his nose, and gets back to work. He isn’t one to judge.

The teasing has left him painfully hard, and he lets out a sound that’s so broken and desperate when he feels Papa’s tongue run up the underside of his cock before actually taking it into his mouth that he has to bite hard into his lower lip. His entire body tenses when Papa looks up at him, wrapping his fingers around whatever he can’t reach. Through the heavy fog settling in his mind, Copia has to remind himself to _breathe_ . There’s no way in Hell that this isn’t some kind of unholy, divine miracle, and he can _not_ die with his cock in Papa’s mouth. His free hand flies up to his mouth to muffle any too-loud noises that could possibly be heard from outside when Papa hollows his cheeks and takes him even deeper.

Papa keeps up that slow, infuriating pace but Copia can’t even be frustrated because it’s just so fucking good, that familiar heat already starting to coil deep in his stomach. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that one of Papa’s hands had left its spot on his hip and drifted down to Papa’s lap when Papa lets out a moan so filthy that there’s no way it isn’t accidental. With another desperate noise, he takes the cardinal’s cock all the way down until his nose is against his pelvis and holds it there for a moment. Copia leans slightly forward, kind of curling over him and tugging at his hair, gasping when he feels Papa moaning through his own orgasm. It takes every ounce of willpower in him not to thrust himself deep into Papa’s throat, instead pushing him away with a hand on his forehead. Before he can question him, Copia gasps from behind his fingers, “Papa, fuck, can I come on your face? I’m so close, please--”

Eyes wide, he stares up at the cardinal in disbelief for a split second. Copia doesn’t even have time to really be embarrassed by it or attempt to apologize before Papa goes back to stroking him. “Do it,” he urges, still breathing hard. He doesn’t take him back into his mouth but instead kisses and laps at the head and up the sides, squeezing softly each time he strokes up on his cock. When Copia’s orgasm finally hits, the hand covering his mouth goes completely slack and he sinks his teeth into the first section of his index finger, high, obscene moans escaping his lips. Papa opens his mouth to catch what he can on his tongue, but most of his come lands high on his cheek, across the bridge of his nose and over one of his (thankfully closed) eyes. The striking white of Papa’s left eye staring up into Copia’s own as he licks his lips and swallows makes his cock twitch in his hand.

Copia has to take a second to relax against the wall and close his eyes, inhaling deeply and wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve this while he fixes his clothes. It’s just for a moment, surely not enough time for the other man to notice, but the cardinal’s face still flushes even hotter when he remembers himself and starts fumbling around for something that Papa can use to clean up with. His frantic mumbled apologies are immediately shut down when Papa holds up a hand to silence him and reaches into an inner pocket of his coat, pulling out a small square of cloth embroidered with the Grucifix on the corner. The cardinal feels a little pang of guilt at the prospect of such intricate stitching being ruined with come and face paint. From where he’s still sitting on his knees, Papa works his fingers over the hinges of his jaw and winces. That’s gonna be sore later. 

“I’d ask if you cared to take this to the bed, but it looks like you took care of that,” Copia says, more to himself than anything. Papa stands after he finishes cleaning himself up and readjusting his clothing, tossing the ruined cloth into the laundry basket by the cabinet. As Copia moves in on him once again, he dully muses to himself that he never realized that he and Papa were the exact same height. He always seemed so… small. Maybe it was the oversized coat.

His heat-addled thoughts are cut short when Papa sucks at the pulse point of his neck. He bites down once before pulling away again.

“Eh. Give it about twenty minutes,” he mutters with a dismissive wave of his hand and grabs him by the front of his shirt, dragging him over to the general direction of Copia’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cardinal Big Dick Energy Copia
> 
> This chapter is somewhat short because I ended up getting frustrated with not updating and broke one huge chapter in half. Sorry. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback/kudos/corrections/etc. <3 
> 
> Also, I'm posting nsfw Ghost stuff on tumblr every once in a while at pornographicnightmareparty.tumblr.com  
> It's my general nsfw side blog so watch out for stuff that isn't Ghost, I suppose. Come say hi.


	4. Very Little Good Happens Between 3 and 4 in the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how often I'll be updating this fic because I began with absolutely no plot or ending in mind. I may just keep it as vaguely related pwp to be added as I think of them because we could always use more Copia/Papa shipping, but we'll see! Anyway, longer chapter than usual to make up for the break between updates.

Still clumsy and coming down from his previous rush, the Cardinal’s shirt is quickly discarded as he’s guided backwards until his legs hit the side of his bed. He’s pushed back onto the mattress, Papa making a show of removing his coat and undoing his shirt, allowing it to fall down his shoulders to the ground before straddling the other man. They waste no more time in closing the distance between them, slow and lazy, a soft sigh escaping from one of them at the wet heat of their tongues, the chalky taste of smeared face paint. Copia can’t help the frankly somewhat embarrassing sounds coming from his mouth in between breaths of air when Papa, somehow still as eager as ever, grinds their hips together.

“Don’t you get tired?” Copia asks.

Papa only laughs and moves a bit more forcefully, bringing his hands up to rest on Copia’s shoulders for better leverage. Before long, Copia’s reciprocating with subtle movements of his own, grasping at whatever sweatslicked skin he can get his hands on. He’s hesitant, timid almost, still sensitive and trying to be careful not to overwhelm himself. Papa hisses when Copia grabs him by the ass, pulling him down hard against him, trailing off into an open mouthed moan and the cardinal is sure that it’s the most amazing sound he’s heard in his life. Papa sits up, still moving his hips in teasing little circles and peers down at the wrecked cardinal beneath him. Black lipstick smudged at the corner of his mouth, the once carefully painted lines of his eye makeup now splotchy and half-removed, Papa’s own face paint blending together in a streak of grey across his nose.

“Look at you. You’re already such a mess,” he says, as if his own hair and face paint aren’t also completely disheveled. 

Copia combs his hair back and out of his eyes with his fingers and takes a deep breath.  _ Already? Is he fucking serious?  _ He doesn’t have enough time to balk at Papa’s teasing before the other man is scooting back, dragging Copia’s trousers back down his hips. Shouldn’t have even bothered getting redressed, now that he thinks of it.

“Ah, wait, do you have—” Copia starts, but Papa cuts him off by fishing through his trousers pocket and tossing a condom packet down, landing on his chest with a light  _ thwack _ . He stares down at it for a second and then up at the smug expression on Papa’s face before cracking a smile and laughing, the sound dying down into an anxious chuckle when he realizes,  _ oh shit, this is reality. _ “So, what, uh. How are we going to do this?” He asks, a visible tremor in his hands when he picks up the foil packet and holds it between his middle and index fingers. Papa almost doesn’t hear him, too busy admiring the blush covering his skin all the way from the tips of his ears to his chest.

“Are you nervous, Cardinal?” Papa’s voice is quiet as he trails his hands aimlessly all over Copia’s chest, just because he can. He sits up straight, adjusting Papa in his lap as he does so. “Well, truthfully… Yes.” He says, avoiding eye contact, a nervous, crooked smile playing at his lips, still flushed and breathing heavily. 

“Oh,” Papa says simply, taking his hands off of the other man and sitting up on his knees, breaking most of their contact. “Did you want to stop?” 

Copia silently thanks the powers that be at the distinct lack of judgement or disappointment in Papa’s voice, but he still wraps his arms around Papa’s waist, leaning his head against his chest and groaning. “You have to answer me, you know,” Papa hums, running a hand through his hair. Copia’s quiet sounds grow in volume and frustration, all but growling as he squeezes Papa around the waist as the other man laughs lightly. “...wanna fuck you,” he whines sloppily, dark and slow as he repositions his hands, one on his hip, the other grabbing him by the thigh, to pull Papa back down into his lap. His laughter is broken by a soft moan and he says, “Okay, fair. If you’re sure.” He lets Copia rut against him until he’s fully hard and panting before pulling away again. 

“Wait a minute, how is this—“  Papa mumbles quietly to himself as he shifts around in his lap, looking on either side of them before looking down at Copia, face dead serious. “Just a second,” he says and rolls completely off, flopping onto the unoccupied side of the bed to finish undressing. it earns him an amused snort, Copia relaxing back against the mattress, glad for the momentary distraction from his overactive nerves. He keeps mumbling to himself as he rifles around in the pockets of his discarded coat before coming back empty handed, frustration evident on his face. 

“I could have sworn—“ 

“The drawer.” 

Copia nods his head toward the nightstand, grateful for the view as Papa twists at the waist and leans forward to root through the endless papers and trinkets littering the drawer. Receipts, Grucifix rosary, misplaced paperwork, loose change, more paperwork… He makes a small, triumphant noise when his fingers finally find plastic and he straightens, upholding the small bottle. Papa raised an eyebrow at the fingerprints still smudged on the half-empty bottle, corner of his lips quirking up slightly, and Copia bites the inside of his cheek.  _ Busy _ . 

He watches through half lidded eyes as Papa uncaps it, slicking up a few of his fingers and reaching between his legs. His head tilts back slightly with a sigh as he pushes two of his fingers inside of himself, displaying the unmarred skin of his neck. Copia can’t help but feel a little disappointed that he’s taken the initiative, so he figures that the least he can do is pull him in close and leave marks across his collarbone and his upper chest. Papa jolts when he feels one of Copia’s fingers, slick, rough, larger and slightly shorter than his own, push inside next to his. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” he groans, before rushing forward into a biting kiss. Copia continues to thrust his fingers, as much as the angle allows, replacing Papa’s fingers with another of his own when he pulls them out to steady himself against the mattress. His teeth sink into Copia’s lower lip — probably hard enough for a bruise to form in the morning — when he curls his fingers  _ just _ right. He briefly considers just letting the cardinal fuck him on his fingers when he starts to feel that familiar, tight heat settling in his gut. But, reluctantly, he grabs his wrist and pushes the hand away, leaving Copia to instead feel around for the condom packet in the tangle of sheets. He tears the foil open and rolls the condom on, stroking himself a few times with his still slick hand as Papa steadies himself above him. He waits for the Cardinal to give him the go-ahead before sinking down, agonizingly slow, digging his nails into Copia’s shoulders as he fills him. Once he’s fully seated, he stills completely for a few moments until he adjusts enough to give an experimental roll of his hips without that dull ache making its way into his spine. 

Papa gasps, the sound quickly making way to a low moan and then a laugh. 

As soon as he’s ready, Copia meets the slow roll of Papa’s hips with his own shallow thrusts, groaning at the tight heat. Keeping his hold on Papa’s thighs, he stares up at him, reverent, hands trembling. He tries to sit up, put some leverage behind his movements, but Papa plants both hands on his chest, holding him there. He can feel the muscles shifting in Papa’s thighs as he lifts himself up just the smallest amount, testing the feeling, before lowering himself back down. Papa’s hands shift the more he moves, palms lifting away from the cardinal’s slightly each time he raises himself up, leaving the skin feeling oddly cold without them. 

The Cardinal grabs him fiercely by the hips, surely leaving behind little crescent shaped indents from his nails and thrusts all the way inside, grinding him down deeper onto him. The sudden shift in demeanor earns him a surprised gasp and hissed “ _ yes” _ from the man on top of him. Slamming into him, meeting him halfway when he bears down on him, he barely even notices the weight of Papa supporting himself entirely on his chest. “Wow, your heart’s really pounding,” he says, as if he were shocked. 

It’s over far too quickly, Copia coming with a strangled grunt as he pushes as deep inside of the man on top of him as he can possibly get, Papa following soon after. He’s shockingly quiet, offering only a low keen which makes way to heavy panting. They stay silent, save for their harsh breathing, enjoying the post-orgasm haze, absentmindedly running their hands over each other’s hot skin. Copia almost jumps when Papa lurches forward until he’s practically nose to nose with the cardinal, grabbing him on either side of his face. At first, he thinks Papa’s going to kiss him but he never closes the distance, instead staring intensely into his eyes, using his thumbs to widen them just the tiniest amount. From this close up, it’s easy to notice the miniscule movements of Papa’s own mismatched eyes flickering back and forth between Copia’s. Green, white, green, white. Neither of them break the staring match, still breathing heavily.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of interesting?” Papa says, snapping Copia out of his reverie. 

“...What?”

He shakes his head and waves a hand as if to tell him “forget it”, gingerly rolling off of the cardinal to settle into the tangle of cool sheets at his side. “I’m staying here, okay?” He says casually, as if that entire little moment never even happened. Copia decides not to question it. He probably wouldn’t understand the man’s reasoning anyway. Instead, he sets to cleaning up the minimal mess left over; he discards the condom and its wrapper into the wastebasket of his small, attached bathroom, grabbing a hand towel on the way back to his bed. Mumbling a quick thanks, Papa takes the hand towel from him and wipes the come from his hand. At least it’s not as much as there was the first time around. Setting the bottle of lube on the nightstand so that it doesn’t spill and make an even bigger mess, Copia looks over just in time to see Papa throw the balled up towel at the laundry basket… and miss completely. His upper lip twitches in irritation when Papa makes no attempt whatsoever to get up and actually place it inside. They’re both too exhausted to do anything about it, so he settles on turning out the lights and crawling into bed beside him. 

He lies there beside Papa for what feels like an eternity, heart hammering in his chest at the situation he finds himself in. Sex was one thing, but this was… Different.  _ Intimate _ . He’s sure that staying the night in the rooms of others was nothing short of routine for the man, but it had been a while since he had another to share his own bed with, even for a night. Trying his best to steady his breathing, he turns to look at Papa’s sleeping face, illuminated by the moonlight flooding in the window above his desk.  _ Just a man, _ he reminds himself as sleep begins to seep in and slow his thoughts.  _ Just a regular man. _

 

 

Copia wakes up freezing, chill running over his back. Groggily, he feels the other side of the bed and finds the other man gone. The blankets are pushed mostly off to the foot of the bed instead of just on Papa’s side.  _ Prick _ . He pulls the blankets back up around him, turning over to lie on his stomach and burrow his face into his pillow. He’s almost asleep again when he hears a shuffling noise somewhere on the other side of the room. Initially thinking it to be his rats, he brushes it off before realizing that the noise is travelling across the room, much too far for it to be a rat. He cracks an eye open to see Papa emerging from the darkened bathroom, partially redressed, trousers slung low on his hips, wiping at his face with a damp cloth. He’s padding around the bedroom barefoot, stopping in front of the rat’s cage. He taps on the bars with a fingernail and clicks his tongue at the curious little things. 

Copia watches him for a bit, listens to Papa speaking softly to them, finally mumbling “I call the big one Leviathan,” his voice hoarse with sleep.

Papa startles, a soft gasp escaping him, and he turns toward Copia. He can see in the dim moonlight that his face freshly cleaned of the wrecked face paint. Copia gives him a tired, lazy smile before burying his face back into his pillow, distantly aware of the fact that he’s smudging his face paint even more. Self consciousness prickles over his skin, making him feel like he’s being stared at, but when he chances a glance over to Papa, the other man isn’t even paying attention. His anxiety spikes when he suddenly has the thought as to whether or not he’s even allowed to see Papa without his paint. He snaps his eyes away from the man’s face, settling instead on a little bruise on his shoulder. Papa questions him about his rats, what their names are, how long he’s had them, and Copia only offers clipped, one word answers.

“Hey. Look at me,” Papa says. His voice is soft, but it is still unmistakably an order. 

Copia reluctantly looks up, the side of Papa’s face barely illuminated, blueish purple shadows falling over the curve of his cheek, his nose, his white eye reflecting the cast light eerily. He looks so different without the high contrast paint and slicked back hair. Not  _ bad _ , god no, just... Different. Papa rolls his eyes, putting hand on his hip.

“I had your cock in my ass like, two hours ago and you’re worried about looking at my face?”

Wait.  _ Two hours _ ? Copia reaches up to angle his alarm clock toward him, squinting at the glowing red numbers. 3am – isn't he tired? Has he just been rummaging through my room for two hours? 

“Did you just get up?”

“I slept for a little while. I’m usually still awake at this hour anyway,” Papa responds. “Lot of work to be done around here, you know.”

Copia nods and hums, “Must be difficult.” 

“Oh, it’s fucking fantastic,” he says with renewed energy. “My brother didn’t have a clue what he was doing, I don’t think. Just wanted to party. I mean, I do too, but I’m... Efficient. -ish,” he says, punctuating the “-ish” by pointing at Copia, who huffs out a laugh.

He goes on about all the perks of being Papa and the inner workings of the church while teasing the rats, making them chase his fingers by gliding them over the bars and poking them through to tap the curious rats on the nose, but Copia doesn't really catch all of it, most of it going over his head. Who knew there was so much budgeting and intricate planning and peacekeeping to be done? The whole thing sounds exhausting. 

“So, would you rather get back to work then, before it gets even later?” 

Papa’s attention snaps away from messing with the rats and he stands up straight. 

“What? Fuck that! It’s nice to relax and have a break once in a while,” he says, coming closer to the bed. Copia hums, reassured, when he crawls back up onto the bed, settling in behind him. Papa lays partially on top of Copia, draping himself lazily over his back to nuzzle his neck. “Why? How are you feeling?” 

“Fucking hell,  _ really _ ?” Copia says at the feeling of Papa’s half-hard cock against the back of his leg. He shudders involuntarily at the soft breaths ghosting over the back of his neck. “I feel like you’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Papa pushes himself up to look at him, breaking all points of contact between their bodies. “Oh, okay, ” he says, going to roll back onto his side of the bed but is quickly stopped by the cardinal grabbing him and pulling him back on top of him.

“Get back over here,” Copia grumbles, more to himself than anything.

“I thought you didn’t…” Papa trails off, questioningly. 

“I never said that.”

Papa hums in acknowledgement, stroking his free hand up and down Copia’s hip and his thighs.  _ Fuck _ , those are nice. He drags his nails sharply over his thigh, just because he can, leaving wet kisses on the back of his neck, the shell of his ear, whatever he can reach. He only teasingly runs his fingers over Copia’s stiffening cock before pulling away to reach over him for the bottle of lubricant on the nightstand.

Papa takes his time gently opening him up, being almost too careful with him. Copia usually doesn’t spend too much time on prep, doesn’t mind the ache and burning stretch one bit, but he has to admit that it’s a damn good feeling to be taken care of. He rocks his hips back on Papa’s fingers, hyper aware of the feeling of Papa’s disheveled hair tickling the side of his neck, breath ghosting over his sensitive skin. 

Copia hisses when Papa pushes inside of him, agonizingly slow, until he can feel his hip bones flush against his ass.  _ Bony little fucker _ , he thinks with a winded laugh. Fighting the urge to move until given the go-ahead, Papa lets him just breathe for a second until he adjusts to it. The only sound in the room is their shared high, quiet moans, sensitivity still lingering from their previous round.

“Papa,” Copia says in a small voice. The only response he receives is an  _ mm-hmm? _ from Papa, biting his lip against any sound, breathing deeply and evenly through his nose. “Move.” 

With a shaking exhale, Papa rolls his hips, revelling in how  _ deep  _ the cardinal is able to take him. After a few tentative slow thrusts, he starts to pick up the pace, pulling out before thrusting back in. His movements can only be described as lazy, sensual. It’s kind of sweet, really. 

Papa props himself up higher on his elbow, exploring the expanse of his skin with his other hand, mapping out the constellation of freckles on his shoulders with his lips and tongue. A tremor wracks through Copia’s body when Papa drags his tongue up the back of his neck, earning a low moan.

“Fuck,” the cardinal whines at a particularly well angled thrust. “Fuckfuckfuck–” 

It’s either a prayer or a curse, Papa isn’t exactly sure which, but he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Good?” Copia doesn't even have to see him to know he's smiling, he can  _ hear _ it in his voice beneath all the panting, the cocky bastard.  Copia nods once, arches against him, pressing his fingers over his lips with intent to stifle his moans. “No no no, don’t do that,” Papa says quickly, brushing his fingertips over Copia’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, pushing his fingers aside so that Copia rests his hand on the mattress instead. “It’s okay, come on, I wanna hear you.” 

Copia’s skin is already burning with overstimulation and the weight of Papa pressing him hard into the mattress without the added encouraging whispers of _ it’s okay, it’s okay _ . As the warmth and pressure build in his gut, he hesitantly allows himself to let go, a litany of moans escaping his lips. He starts to tremble, almost overwhelmed by his approaching third orgasm of the night, the sensitivity beginning to be way too much to handle. 

Papa’s hand trails down his arm and presses his hand into the mattress by the wrist to steady him, keep him grounded, making Copia whine high and nasally. “This okay?” He asks, squeezing Copia’s palm once. Copia tangles their fingers together properly and makes a strangled, embarrassed noise in response, turning his face away. Mistaking his submissive reaction for nerves or, Lucifer forbid,  _ shame _ , Papa doubles down on his whispering of praises and encouragement in his ear. 

He sobs as his orgasm crashes over him in waves, dry for the most part and untouched save for grinding against the bed. The overwhelming, constant stimulation makes it seem like it goes on for ages, Copia unable to properly catch his breath until he feels like he’s drowning. He momentarily worries about his eye makeup smearing with tears on his bedding as he comes down, his brain no longer able to keep up with the sweet, breathless words Papa is still muttering in his ear. The words give way to increasingly urgent groaning as he speeds up, the cardinal crying out each time he thrusts in as far as he possibly can. A rumbling, animal noise rises from deep in his chest as he comes deep inside of him, holding there until he’s completely finished. 

He carefully pulls out, wincing at the sensation and rolls back over to his side of the bed, leaving Copia to catch his breath. Papa gently urges him to move away from the come stain on the sheets but he’s too shaky and exhausted to do anything more, protesting that he can’t move if he wanted to. A couple minutes pass before the cardinal is able to haul himself up and make his way into the bathroom to clean himself up. His reflection in the vanity mirror startles him at first, black tear stains streaking down his cheeks and even down his neck in some places. He scrubs it away hastily, watching the blackened water swirl down the drain, combing his wet hands through his hair as an afterthought. 

He flinches at the ache already settling into his strained muscles when he gets back to bed, curling into Papa’s side against the chill of the room. Pushing his hair out of his eyes and flashing an exhausted smile up at him – fuck’s sake, he looks good like this, Papa’s honestly shocked that people aren’t positively throwing themselves at the guy’s feet –  the cardinal laughs, “I haven’t been fucked like that since college.”

Papa snorts, making way for an almost hyena-like laugh and Copia grins wider. It isn’t the low and mischievous chuckle one would usually get out of him, but rather loud, carefree. They sit in a comfortable silence for a moment until they calm down and wait for the low buzz of hypersensitivity to abate. 

“I can’t believe you’re allowed to keep those in here. Why didn’t I know about this?” Papa asks, indicating to the rats. Copia looks over to them, noticing that they thankfully aren’t particularly active tonight. Shit, is that weird? It’s kind of weird. He wonders if the rats will be offended if he throws a sheet over their cage next time he has someone over for the night before shaking the thought from his head. Stupid. 

“Well, Nihil— uh, His Unholy Eminence wanted them out of the walls and I –”

Papa laughs quietly, cutting him short. “Why so formal? Are you trying to impress me, cardinal? He’s just my father.”

“Oh, okay, yeah,  _ just _ your father, sure” he grumbles. “Anyway, he wanted them all out of the walls, but with the size of the cage I found, I could only keep a few of them…” he trails off, allowing the conversation to turn to the everyday occurrences. They lie like that for a while, just talking about nothing, when Copia finally turns and asks, “Why are you paying so much attention to me?” 

Papa blinks at him. 

“Because I’m in your bed?” 

Copia rubs his hands over his eyes in exasperation, scowling at the black smudges on his palms when he pulls them away. Forgot to scrub the paint from his hands,  _ absolute moron, shit _ . 

“No, I meant, in general.” 

Papa is silent for a while, leaving Copia with his thoughts, already feeling kind of stupid because what if this is a series of casual fucks that he's reading too much into? 

“Well. I care very, very deeply about everyone, everybody in the church. Not just the parish. Clergy, ghouls, followers.  _ Everyone _ ,” Papa says awkwardly, tilting his head for emphasis. “And I like to show it, as often as I possibly can.”

Copia looks at him incredulously, fighting to hide a smile of his own. “And you do that…. by fucking everything that moves.” 

Papa shrugs halfheartedly. “Just one of my many charms,” he says, slinging his arm over Copia’s shoulders and gets close, bringing them back together. “But I mean, no, not  _ everything. _ ”  

_ So this is somewhat of a privilege then? Interesting. _ Copia shrugs it off and leans into the touch, closing the distance with a slow, open mouthed kiss. They break away a few minutes later when Papa mumbles something about needing a shower, suggesting that the Cardinal should join him. Copia almost fucking screams into his pillow and this time Papa laughs at full volume, shouting that he’s just kidding when Copia shoves him away, still cackling even after an angry clergy member in the next room bangs on the wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke: despite the fact that Copia will inevitably replace him as frontman and leader of the church, Papa III legitimately finds him unbelievably sexually appealing and is insatiable for the cock 
> 
> Woke: Papa III has been trying to kill him with dick but the rat bastard refuses to die 
> 
>  
> 
> Catch me at pornographicnightmareparty on tumblr if you wanna request anything. Thanks for all the support and for sticking around. <3


End file.
